Chapter 14
Levi
Franny’s is already buzzing when we walk in. Neon lights flirting drunkenly, music thumping like a relentless heartbeat that dares you to feel something. Dominic and Elijah waste no time claiming a booth near the stage, already waving down the bartender with the enthusiasm of men on a mission.
Hayden, however, hovers. He’s a picture of contrast. Pressed shirt, sleeves still rolled halfway up his forearms from our cooking escapades, and that perpetual furrow in his brow as if joy might be contagious and he’s very concerned about catching it.
I bump his shoulder. “Relax, Underworld. It’s just a bar. No one’s going to drop dead. At least, not before last call.”
He arches a brow. “Statistically speaking, last call’s risky.”
Before I can respond, Dominic plops four tequila shooters in front of us, grinning like the devil himself. “House rules: First round’s not optional.”
Hayden studies the shot glass, then downs the liquid with sinful ease. No flinch, no grimace.
I blink. Well, then.
Dominic whoops. “Oh, he’s dangerous. I love it.”
The next round comes faster, and then another.
We’re pulled into some chaotic drinking game that involves slapping the table and shouting random words when someone messes up.
Hayden’s the worst at it. Not because he’s bad at the game, but because he’s hardwired to overthink everything.
Relatable. But by round four, he unravels.
Shoulders loose, jaw slack with laughter.
And his smile? Devastating. Not the tight-lipped smirk I’m used to, but something that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and the room quietly rearranges around him because he’s suddenly the center of it.
Elijah catches my gaze and wiggles his brows. Not just an “oh, you like him” wiggle. But the more dangerous “you like him in a way that matters” kind of wiggle. Like he’s watching puzzle pieces click into place.
I shrug. Casual. Chill. Not at all actively combusting from five feet away.
The lights dim abruptly, a spotlight snapping to the small stage near the bar. Penny Tration, Stonevale’s longest-running drag queen, unofficial town morale officer, and beloved mailman by day, takes the mic, sequins reflecting the light in rainbow bursts of sparkle.
“Alright, gays and theys,” she says, adjusting her glittering wig with a practiced flick. “For tonight’s performance, I need a backup dancer and I’m going to need some audience help.”
She scans the crowd…and her gaze lands on us.
On him.
“You,” she purrs, pointing a manicured claw directly at Hayden. “Buttoned up, suspiciously hot. Get up here, Tax Season Daddy.”
Hayden blinks like someone just summoned him in a séance. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Come on.”
Before he can protest, Dominic and Elijah have formed a two-man hype squad, chanting, “Hay-den! Hay-den! Hay-den!”
I lean in. “You absolutely don’t have to do this.”
His eyes narrow, equal parts betrayal and resignation, before he downs the rest of his drink, stands, and makes his way to the stage like he’s attending a compliance seminar.
Penny drags him center stage and fans herself so hard her wig flutters. “Name, sexy?”
He clears his throat. “Hayden.”
The queen fans herself dramatically again. “And what do you do, Hayden?”
“I’m a funeral director.”
The crowd loses it.
Penny winks. “Dead inside and hot outside. Just my type. Well, let’s see those moves!”
Hayden’s mouth quirks.
The music kicks in, a pulsing, seductive beat, and at first, Hayden just stands there stiffly. Then, slowly, he moves. Hesitant at first, before finding the rhythm.
His rhythm.
And it’s…unfair.
He moves like his body is remembering it was made to be worshipped.
Smooth, instinctive hips, like they’ve been waiting ages to find this rhythm.
His shadows start to dance too, out of sync with the strobe as if they’re tasting the song through him, flickering in ways that don’t match the other silhouettes on the wall.
For a second, I wonder if anyone else notices.
But no one turns their head. If you don’t already know where to look, there’s nothing to see. But I do.
It’s like the darkness is drawn to him the way I am, wanting to move with him the way I do.
I can’t breathe. Can’t think.
Hayden catches my eye mid-song, and something wicked sparks there. Something that says he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
Oh, it’s like that now?
The song ends. Hayden steps off the stage, sweat glistening down the slope of his throat, and before I know it, we’re all pulled into the crowd.
Dominic and Elijah flank us, dancing with drinks in hand.
The bass thrums beneath my feet. Franny’s is a kaleidoscope of color, neon, and sweat, glitter like stars stitched into skin.
The air is thick with laughter, alcohol, and musky cologne swirl.
And I can’t stop grinning.
Hayden Harlow, professional grump, is here. In this sweat-drenched mess, his sleeves rolled, hair undone, and eyes electrifying.
He’s dancing, and I swear the floor shifts to keep up.
Granted, he’s probably overthinking every move, but he’s trying, and that’s what does it for me.
I’m breathless from laughing or the sheer ridiculousness of the night; my hands find his shoulders, and I anchor myself as if gravity’s suddenly unreliable. “Thanks for choosing this,” I shout. “The soup thing, this…I know it’s not your scene.”
His hands settle on my waist, tentative and searching, asking for permission without saying a word. His touch sends a chill straight to my chest.
Hayden leans in, breath catching the shell of my ear. His voice scrapes low enough to drag across every nerve ending I have. “I’m discovering there’s little I wouldn’t do for you.”
The words knock the air right out of me. I’ve waited my whole life to be wanted like that. Out loud, with witnesses.
I pull back just enough to see his face. His eyes are dark and unwavering, and hold a sincerity that feels like it could swallow me whole. There’s nothing casual about it. Nothing flippant or disguised as a joke. Just raw, honest truth wrapped in the warmth of his gaze.
I don’t know what to say, so I slide my hands from his shoulders to the back of his neck, fingers threading through the soft strands of hair there. I tug him closer so our foreheads are nearly touching.
“That makes two of us,” I whisper, because anything else feels too big for this moment.
The beat shifts to something deeper, slower. The kind of song that sinks into your skin.
We’re dancing, all four of us, laughing and bumping shoulders.
But then something shifts again. Hayden’s hand clamps onto my ass with full, possessive conviction, pulling me flush against him, and suddenly, it’s just us.
His thigh between mine, his breath hot against my neck, and my brain short-circuiting.
The air between us tightens. Dominic and Elijah exchange a quick glance, a silent knowing look, then disappear farther into the crowd, be it to give us space or on the prowl for a third.
Hayden leans in, his cheek pressed against mine. “You’re driving me insane.”
It’s not the words that undo me. It’s the way he says them, as if they’ve been burning a hole in his chest. I grip his shirt, pulling him closer, our hips aligned, bodies flush. The tension crackles when his hands slide up my back, fingers pressing, grounding me, and setting me on fire all at once.
When our mouths crash, it’s teeth and tongue and raw need. Nothing polite about it. Just a kiss that makes my spine tingle and my cock ache.
His tongue slides against mine, tasting like tequila, mint, and something distinctly him.
Something that makes my knees forget their purpose.
His hands are everywhere. My jaw, my neck, gripping me as if he’s trying to memorize the shape of me.
My knees go weak. His shadows curl around us, soft restraints no one else can see, binding us in silk and heat.
Circling wrists, caressing sweat-slick skin.
Like gravity reversed where he’s concerned.
When we break apart, gasping and hands wandering, he rests his forehead against mine.
“You make it impossible to think about anything else,” he whispers, searing kisses along my jaw.
I swallow, heart racing. I try to catch up to his words. The air brims with want or something too big to hold. A need claws at my ribs, begging me to let him ruin me.
I lean in, and my lips brush the exact spot where his ear connects to his jaw. “Good,” I murmur, savoring his skin. “Because you’re all I’ve been thinking about.”
His breath hitches, the space between us shrinking with every beat. Then, just as quickly, the spell is broken by Dominic and Elijah reappearing beside us, flushed and laughing, slipping effortlessly back into our orbit as if they’d never left.
Dominic flashes a small amber bottle, the glass catching neon, holding it out like a dare. “Who’s ready?” he calls, his eyes sparkling.
Elijah glances skeptically around the bar. “Aren’t we a little old for poppers?”
Dominic scoffs dramatically. “Excuse me, we’re in our prime. Bad decisions only improve with age.”
“Well, twist my arm.” Elijah shrugs, leaning in to seal the bottle to his nose, and inhales; his eyes flutter, chin tipping back like the ceiling just kissed him. He passes it to Dominic, who double-pulls, nostrils flaring. Color blooms under his skin as if someone lit him from the inside.
“Hayden, care to indulge in our collective lapse of judgment?” Dominic purrs, wicked and delighted.
I’m half expecting Hayden to decline, but to my surprise, he reaches for the bottle. “I’m nothing if not ceremonial.”
I choke on laughter as he inhales with elegance.
“Oh, he’s a keeper,” Dominic murmurs, elbow to my ribs, as if we’ve both just witnessed a miracle.